


call of silence

by Anonymous



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Happy Ending But Some Angst Along The Way, Porco-centric, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan-Typical Violence, Time Travel, almost everybody lives/almost nobody dies, aot manga spoilers, marcel lives, opinions of characters do not necessarily reflect author's opinions, reiner ur fired pokko has taken ur spot as depression man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dying doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Porco had expected. He forces his eyes open (shit, he still has eyes?) and promptly bursts into tears when he sees Marcel.(Or, Porco is supposed to be dead. Somehow, he’s not. Somehow, he’s in a timeline where he’s ten again, on the day Marcel is set to leave for Operation Paradis. He’s very, very confused, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to stand by and let his brother die again.)
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Porco Galliard, Marcel Galliard & Porco Galliard, Pieck Finger & Porco Galliard, Reiner Braun & Marcel Galliard & Bertholdt Hoover & Annie Leonhart, Reiner Braun & Porco Galliard
Comments: 40
Kudos: 79
Collections: Fanfic Anonymous





	1. prologue: marley's soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> yo pokko was such a badass and im still not over his death. anyways heres a fic where he (the biggest chad in all of snk) is the mc. also he swears a lot so do be warned if u dislike profanity anyways i hope u guys enjoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lolol if yall have a porco ship u wanna see pls tell me. i havent figured out what ship to write (or even if im gonna write a ship at all lol) so im taking any and all suggestions atm

Dying doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Porco had expected. Not much more than getting a limb ripped off, or an eye gouged out, in any case. Despite everything, he’s strangely glad. Falco will be fine now, empathetic, kind Falco, and so will Reiner. His only regrets are his parents, who will surely be heartbroken, now that their remaining son is dead and gone, and the fact that he hadn’t gotten to see Reiner’s reaction. Tch.

(It’s pathetic, really. The rational choice would’ve been to let the bastard die - his term is about to end, Falco is one of the prime candidates to inherit the Armour anyway, the reasons go on and on - but there’s a part of him that can’t bring himself to let any of his comrades die. Even Reiner fucking Braun.)

He floats around, weightless, with only darkness in front of him for… Well, he isn’t sure for how long. Ten minutes? Ten hours? Ten-

Light sparks behind his eyelids. When he awakens, he’s choking on his own gasps. He shoots up, blindly reaching forwards, head pounding.

Shit. Fuck.

“Porco?”

It sounds like Marcel. _Shit, Marcel’s here to welcome me,_ Porco thinks, and he wants to cry, just a little- 

Oh, who is he kidding? He’s fucking dead, and there’s no one here to judge him. He forces his eyes open, and there Marcel is, all warm hazel eyes and smiling cheeks. 

Before Porco’s thoughts catch up to him, he’s leaping out of the bed and throwing himself at his brother - his _dead_ brother. He barely registers Marcel’s light _oof_ as he catches him over the sound of his own sobs. 

“Marcel, Marcel, Marcel, Marcel.” He chants the name over and over again like it’s a prayer.

“What’s wrong?” Marcel (Marcel’s ghost) asks, sounding worried.

Porco buries his face into the crook of (ghost) Marcel’s neck. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

“Hey, Porco, it’s okay,” Marcel (the ghost) says gently, giving his back a few pats. “I’ll be back with the Founder before you know it, alright?”

_Huh?_ “What do you mean?”

Marcel (the ghost?) laughs, but it’s tinged with concern. “Did you hit your head or something? Operation Paradis starts today.”

* * *

Marcel leaves shortly after - he’s needed; Marley wants to parade him around the streets like some sort of prize animal. Porco spends a minute muttering every single profanity he can think of, scrubbing furiously at the remainders of his tears.

It can’t be. _It can’t be._ But it _is,_ somehow- somehow he’s _back in time._

He’s a Warrior. He’s been _trained_ to handle stressful situations like this. He needs to stay calm, assess the situation through a lens of rationality.

Fact: He’s ten years old again.

Fact: Operation Paradis starts today.

Fact: According to Reiner’s report - and he knows all the details of that damn report like the back of his own hand - the group runs into a pure titan by the end of the night. Marcel pushes Reiner out of the way and is eaten alive in his stead.

Fact: There’s no way in hell he’s going to stand by and let his brother die again.

Maybe this is some sort of fucked up purgatory, but he really can’t bring himself to even care about that possibility. Not when Marcel looks so _alive._

He gnaws on his knuckles, rakes a hand through his hair, paces back and forth. Then, he jumps into action. In a frenzied rush, he’s scrambling around the house, stuffing whatever he can think of being useful in a pack: spare clothing, a loaf of bread, a lighter. He hesitates for only a moment before swiping a kitchen knife - perfect for paring carrots - as well. 

Sneaking around is easy - _too_ easy, the nagging voice in the back of his mind whispers. He ignores it. He’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth - since the entire town has their attention on the carriage. 

It should’ve been him up there, with Marcel and Annie and Bertholdt. The truth he’d learned still blindsides him. First, angry. _Marcel did it all for me._ Then, sorrowful. _Marcel did it all for me._ Then, resigned. _Marcel did it all for me._

When he reaches the ship prepared for the Warriors, he slips onto it and, avoiding the few crew members present, manages to find a small cranny - underneath a few boxes, in one of the storage rooms. He tucks himself into it and pulls out one of the loaves. It’s hard and stale when he bites into it.

After a couple of hours, he nods off, but jerks back into wakefulness when he feels his surroundings begin to move. Using the light filtering through the gaps in the closed door, he shuffles his way around the stacks and stacks of supplies. Waiting is agony, and the reality of the situation, of what he’s done, finally begins to settle into his bones.

  
He’s scared, _so_ scared, but there’s also a certain determination in the midst of that. Marcel is resourceful and strong, but it’s just like him to sacrifice his life. If Porco can just prevent that, then all will be… okay.

* * *

After what feels like a lifetime, the rumbling finally stops. The ship’s docked, then. Porco takes a deep breath, glances out at the light. It’s much fainter, but there’s the unmistakable glint of moonlight. One false move and he’ll be discovered.

He takes a deep breath, a breath shakier than he’d like to admit, and pushes the door open. He makes his way down the hall, painfully aware of each step he’s taking, muscles taut.

Somehow - whether through some miracle or sheer luck - he manages to exit the ship undetected. He sees the group of them on land, a ways away. Commander Magath is saying something to them, but he isn’t close enough to make out what it is. He doesn’t waste a moment. He sprints around, to the other side of the concrete structure, making sure to keep his footfalls as silent as possible. From his vantage point, he waits until the ship leaves again.

By this point, the group of Warriors are well ahead, on horseback. Porco can see the flickers of their flashlights in the distance, and he hikes the straps of his pack further up his shoulders. He begins to sprint after them, ignoring the way he can feel the hilt of the kitchen knife dig into his back.

Even though the horses are at an unhurried pace, it takes him an unexpectedly long time to catch up. It’s his body - he’s not used to having such short limbs, such weak lungs.

Annie spots him first. When she stops her horse, there’s still a sizeable space between them. They’re barely blurry shapes in the darkness of the night. Soon enough, the entire group stops, and Porco closes the distance between them.

“Porco?” Marcel slides off his horse, lands next to where he’s doubled over and struggling to catch his breath. “What- what are you doing here?”

Between gasps, Porco says, “I’m not about to rot away in Marley for thirteen years.”

“You didn’t get chosen!” Reiner snaps. “Go back!” 

Porco snorts. Reiner has always been an idiot. “Yeah, like the ship’s still at the dock.” His lips twitch into a smirk. “Maybe if you transform and swim over, you’ll get them in time.” 

Reiner’s off his horse now, stepping close to Porco. “You’re just gonna be dead weight on this mission! You were dead last, after all!”

Even though Porco knows the truth of the matter, the words sting. It’s ridiculous, and he hates himself for letting Reiner’s words rile him up so much, but he still feels his temper flare. “Oh, I’ll show you dead weight-”

“Porco, Reiner, stop!” Marcel pushes his way between the two of them, eyebrows drawn together. “We can’t be fighting amongst ourselves right now!”

“Marcel’s right,” Annie says coolly. 

Marcel forces a smile. “We’ll- we can talk about this in the morning, alright? We all just need to stay calm. And besides, another helper on the mission can’t hurt.”

For a moment, Reiner looks like he’s about to protest. Then, his mouth snaps shut, and he doesn’t quite look away, but he doesn’t look at Porco, either. “Yeah, I guess.”

* * *

They set up camp nearby, with the horses’ reins tied to tree trunks.

“We didn’t cover much ground tonight,” Marcel says, poking at the fire with a stray branch.

“Yeah, no thanks to  _ him.” _ Reiner jerks his chin at Porco. 

He grits his teeth. “Look, the only reason why I’m not throttling you right now is ‘cause of this useless mission or whatever.”

Reiner’s voice goes dangerous. “Are you insulting our great motherland?” Ah, good ol’ Reiner. Porco had almost forgotten how fucking  _ obnoxious _ he had been as a kid, with his obsession with proving his loyalty or whatnot.

“Yes,” he snaps, because he’s tired, damn it. “Fuck Marley.”

“Language,” Marcel berates quietly, “and Porco, that’s enough.”

Reiner’s standing up now, eyes furious as he yells, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna report-”

“Go ahead!” Porco spits. He also rises, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring daggers. “Go run back to your-” because it’s not  _ our, _ Marley isn't Porco’s, has never been Porco’s, “- _ great _ motherland right fucking now, and lick those filthy Marley boots until your tongue falls off!”

Behind Reiner, the sun is beginning to rise. “You-”

“Do you honestly think Marley gives a rat’s ass about us? No! Of course not! They couldn’t care less about what happens to us, we’re  _ expendable _ Eldian trash to them! All they care about-” 

Marcel tries again. “Porco, stop-”

“-is their own survival like the fucking selfish shitbags they are!”

Reiner opens his mouth to reply… 

...and then the shadow falls over him, the unmistakable shape of a titan. 

Reiner is frozen, stiff like a statue, because of fucking  _ course _ he is, and Porco feels a flash of movement beside him, a flash of movement that could only be Marcel and his heart almost drops in his chest because shit, shit,  _ shit,  _ this can’t happen, not this, not now, and as the titan - Ymir, it must be her, he’s never gotten a good look at Ymir’s titan, but he’s certain - lifts Marcel into the air, Porco scoops his pack off the ground and leaps at the titan’s massive arm and-

-he lands, wobbling precariously, and he roots around frantically until he feels the knife prick his fingers and he can’t hear anything over the roaring of blood in his ears but he sees Marcel getting dropped in the corner of his eye, thank fucking  _ God _ the titan must have lost interest, and he pulls the knife free and hurls the rest of the pack at the titan’s face, aiming for its (her) eyes and-

-sheer terror flows through his veins, thick like blood, but he doesn’t let it paralyze him, instead, he thrashes harder, because he’s not gonna go down without a fight, didn’t go down last time, won’t go down this time, won’t ever go down without a fight.

His thoughts are clearing now. He kicks and trashes and squirms and suddenly white-hot pain explodes in his leg. There’s a shrill shriek, and  _ fucking hell, _ it doesn’t sound human. It takes him a moment to realize that it had torn itself free from his own throat.

_ Painpainpain it hurts it hurts it hurts,  _ his mind screams at him and he screams  _ shut the fuck up, _ back, gritting his teeth and bringing the knife down  _ hard _ against the giant fingers holding him in place because he’s a fucking Warrior, damn it, but there’s a breath of hot air against his face and teeth closing around his leg, now, and why the  _ hell _ isn’t one of the shifters doing something, why can he see them running away through his peripheral vision-

Porco isn’t sure what happens next. The world is spinning too wildly, and everything hurts.

“-co? Porco, say something!”

“-shit, is he actually-”

With a tremendous amount of effort, Porco forces his eyes open. It takes a few moments for the world to focus again. He focuses on Marcel’s face, first, on the titan markings around his cheeks. He chances a look at himself, at the way he’s practically collapsed over Marcel, and startles a little at all the blood making his clothing stick to his skin. 

He can’t feel his legs. He isn’t regenerating, why isn’t he-

(Oh. Right. No Jaw. He’s not-)

“Por...co?” Reiner murmurs. His eyes are as wide as dinner saucers.

Porco’s tongue feels like sandpaper. “Why were you running away?” He forces out. He turns his head, squinting blearily at Annie and Bertholdt. “If Marcel was the one getting eaten, would you have run away too?”

Their silence is deafening. Their silence is the answer. Porco feels sick. He knows they’re all children, that he shouldn’t blame them, because the only reason  _ he _ didn’t freeze up is because he’s not one of them, not really, he’s hardened from years of actual combat experience. But the thought of Marcel, of his  _ brother, _ dying alone in some timeline, abandoned by his own comrades- 

Anger gives him enough energy to raise his voice. “How- how could you?! How could you be so completely selfish and-”

“Porco, please, you’re gonna make your wounds worse-”

“How do you think I would’ve felt if I had to watch you get eaten alive?!” Porco cuts Marcel off with a sharp snap. His eyes feel like they’re blazing. His vision is going blurry now, and his head fills with cotton. “Why don’t you ever  _ think?!” _

Marcel’s grip loosens. “I-”

Everything goes dark, and the last thing Porco sees is Marcel’s wide, horrified eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk abt u guys but s4 has me in a state of pure euphoria... the animation, the voice acting, the char design *chefs kiss* pokko is just exquisite imo


	2. to you, two thousand years from now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lolol tbh i wasnt planning on updating this fast but then yall left a bunch of rly nice comments and i was like  
> (⭑•͈ 𓎟 •͈ )  
> tysm to Daughteroffire, bugidan, CrispyPan, onlyagirl, iruze, and Guntz!! u guys are all very sexc

Porco jerks back into consciousness. 

Immediately, he wishes he hadn’t. He feels like he’s _burning,_ a raw, white-hot agony that’s more intense than anything he’s ever felt before. The jostling makes it worse, the constant shifting and movement of his surroundings. 

Through squinted eyes, he sees smudges of green and brown - trees, hills, perhaps - but the brightness hurts his head too much and he squeezes his eyes shut again. A particularly rough jerk of the surface beneath him has his knees bumping together. As he feels something warm and wet trickle down his leg, he can’t hold back the pained half-sob he makes, like a wounded animal. 

Shit, he’s pathetic.

There are voices floating above him, but Porco can’t understand them. It sounds like they’re underwater, or maybe _he’s_ the one who’s underwater. A fresh wave of agony sweeps over his legs to spread across the rest of his body.

It hurts more than anything else he’s ever experienced before, and that’s… saying a lot. Somehow, this hurts more than literally getting torn limb from limb, being completely helpless as his body is violently used to do something he doesn’t want to do, it hurts more than getting his face smashed into the ground over and over again, and yes, to be fair, the Power of the Titans _does,_ in fact, dull pain, but even thinking about it makes his jaw begin to ache, a sort of phantom pain and-

No no no no _nononono stop thinking about that stop it stop it-_

* * *

“Oh, you’re awake!” 

Bertholdt’s face comes into view. Porco blinks a few times, but the world still doesn’t focus, not quite. Blearily, he glances around. He’s lying on a mat, head cushioned by a pillow. The room is filled with nothing but similar mats and anxious people, and daylight streams through the windows. 

The fabric against his legs feels stiff and scratchy. He chances a look and sees wraps stained with brownish-red splotches that could only be dried blood. The pain is starting to catch up to his mind now, a dull throbbing that makes the muscles in his face screw up. He tries sitting up for all but two whole seconds before he gives up. His body feels like it’s made out of lead.

Fucking hell.

He’s gotten used to the regenerative abilities that come with the Power of the Titans. He’s taken them for granted. Obviously, he doesn’t regret keeping Marcel from fucking  _ dying, _ but he’ll acknowledge that his impulsivity is one of his shittier qualities. He might’ve been able to afford that in the past, but now, he’s been reduced to this sorry state by a mere pure titan.

Hey, at least the pain means that his legs are more or less intact.

“Does it hurt?” Almost immediately after the words have left Bertholdt’s mouth, he winces. “S-Sorry, that was a dumb question.” He swallows, eyes flickering away as he kneels beside Porco. “Um, anyway, we’re in a refugee camp inside Wall Rose.”

Porco cranes his neck up. It’s easier to focus on Bertholdt than the pain. His thoughts had been occupied by a steady flow of  _ Marcel Marcel Marcel _ before, but now, seeing Bertholdt again… 

(They’ve never been particularly close, but Porco had been fucking furious when he saw the stolen Colossus.) 

“How long have I been…” 

“Three days.”

“You guys reached the wall in just three days?”

“Two, actually. Marcel, um, ran very quickly.”

“Oh.” Shit, Marcel must’ve been terrified. Porco makes a mental note to apologize, once he sees him again. “Can you fill me in?”

Bertholdt tilts his head to the side and says, “About what happened? Um, Annie called for pure titans, and she and Marcel took turns carrying us to the wall. Then, yesterday, I…” His eyes meet Porco’s only for a split second before he breaks eye contact again. “I broke that wall, the big one, and Reiner broke the gate of the inner wall. We weren’t discovered.” 

“Good job.” That’s what Porco’s supposed to say, right? He’s supposed to congratulate the Colossus for carrying out his duty. But he can’t help but think back to how  _ broken _ Reiner seemed after he’d returned from Paradis for the first time. 

Goddamnit. He should’ve gone back further, nevermind how he ended up ‘here’ in the first place. This entire child soldier thing has been fucked from the start. 

He hasn’t trusted Marley in a long, long time, and it hurts to see how much of his own people buy into the propaganda the government hands out like candy. But it’s not like Paradis has ever been his ally.

Bertholdt doesn’t respond verbally, only with a thin, nervous smile. After a moment, he adds, “The others are looking for food, and a doctor.”

So Bertholdt’s stuck on babysitting duty. Porco screws his mouth to one side and attempts to blow his bangs out of his eyes. The hair falls over his forehead in matted clumps, damp with sweat. “Why’s it so hot?”

“Marcel says you probably have a fever.”

Porco only hums in acknowledgement as a sudden wave of exhaustion hits him. After a few moments of staying silent, Bertholdt speaks up again.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he starts quietly. “I don’t know what we would’ve done if…” He trails off, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess what he wants to say. “I just- I just think you’re really brave! Especially because, um, y-you know…”

Porco shrugs, a small gesture that’s barely beyond a jerk of one shoulder. He’s not really sure how to respond, and besides, it’s whatever. He’s living on borrowed time. Not like his life even matters.

Bertholdt startles, going pale. His eyes are the size of dinner plates. “Wh-What are you saying? Borrowed time? What do you mean?”

It takes a few moments for the realization to sink in. “Ugh, shit, I was thinking out lo-” Porco cuts himself off with a sigh. “Just forget it, okay?” With great difficulty, he rolls over on his other side so he doesn’t have to look at whatever face Bertholdt is making at the moment. “Please don’t tell Marcel ‘bout this? I don’t want him to worry more.”

“I won’t,” Bertholdt promises, after a long beat of silence. “Do you… do you want anything else?” 

“Hm.” Porco’s eyelids begin to close. “Tell Reiner I’m gonna punch him in the nose.”

* * *

When Marcel returns, he brings an old lady claiming to be a doctor with him.

“Well, it’s infected, alright.” She pokes at the wound, and Porco flinches. 

“Ow.”

“By some miracle, the teeth didn’t bite right through and sever your leg,” she continues to say, prodding at his leg again. “Some parts of the bone are completely shattered, and you’ll be lucky to ever walk again. Try not to move around too much.” 

Shit.  _ Shit. _ Porco’s already made his peace with dying, so this is hardly comparable, but it’ll be inconvenient as hell, if he actually lost his ability to walk.

The old lady attaches some sort of makeshift split with a strip of cloth, grunts, and hobbles away As soon as she’s out of earshot, Marcel turns to Porco. “Let’s find another doctor.”

“Wasn’t she-” Porco begins, and Marcel shakes his head.

“She  _ barely _ looked at it! Without a real doctor, it probably won’t heal right!”

“It’s fine,” Porco says. If he weren’t lying down, he’d reach out and touch Marcel’s arm. “You’re alive, I’m alive, and that’s all that matters.”

Marcel is quiet for a moment. Then, almost bitterly, he mutters, “If it’d been me, I could’ve healed.”

“If it’d been you, you’d be dead.”

The report said that it’d been too quick for Marcel to react to, and Porco believes it. There’s no reason for Reiner - who willingly shouldered the full responsibility of the mission’s failure - to lie. And for all that Marcel is astute and skilled, he is a  _ child. _

(Memories-wise, he’s nineteen to his brother’s twelve, right now. So, would that make him the older brother now? Or is he still technically his body’s age?

Holy fuck, this is weird.)

“I could’ve done something,” Marcel says thickly, “I could’ve- How can I even call myself your big brother now?” He looks away, drags a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Porco frowns. “Don’t be. You did everything you could, so stop blaming yourself.”

There’s another long moment of silence. Marcel gets up from where he was kneeling next to the mat and says, “Just… just wait a bit, okay? I’ll be right back with a doctor.”

Waiting, huh? Waiting reminds him of the agonizing years of waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for Marcel to keep his promise, to come back alive.

Porco squeezes his eyes shut. They’re burning again.

* * *

“Sorry, I accidentally overheard that you’re looking for a doctor?”

Porco looks to the side and sees the nervous-looking blonde boy that’s trying to make conversation. “Oh. Hi.” He doesn’t know how he feels about talking to a Paradisian. On one hand, Marley’s whole propaganda shtick about virtuous versus savage Eldians is seriously annoying, considering they’re all Subjects of Ymir that the world hates equally, but on the other hand… it’s hard to shake what he feels, after Liberio’s destruction. 

“My friend’s dad is a doctor,” the little blonde boy explains shyly. “Um, I’m not really sure where he is, sorry, but, I just thought, maybe…” Holy fuck, there’s no way Porco can bring himself to hate someone like this. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Porco responds. “Not your responsibility.”

The boy shifts his weight from foot to foot. “U-Um, I’m Armin.” 

“Porco.”

Armin’s eyes light up. “I’ve never heard of that name before. It’s really cool, and it really suits you!”

“It means ‘swine’.” As a kid, he  _ hated _ it. Now, it’s so insignificant that he really couldn’t give less of a shit.

Apologetically, Armin rushes out, “O-Oh! Sorry I didn’t know!”

“Hey, relax.” Porco can’t help the snicker that escapes him. At Armin’s wide-eyed expression, he eases into a reassuring smile. “You’re not wrong. My friend says it’s my nose.”

_ Pokko, _ Pieck had said, so long ago that it feels like a lifetime now.  _ Your nose is like a piglet’s. _

_ It’s not! _ He had snapped back, red-faced and fuming.  _ Take that back! _

Even now, the Pieck back in Marley isn’t the one he knows. Hell, they’ve barely spoken, in this timeline. He and Pieck only began to bond a few months into Operation Paradis, where he was angry and alone, and she and the Warchief - he can’t even bring himself to say the traitor’s name now, goddamnit - had been around to keep him company.

He misses the Pieck from his world so much it aches.

* * *

After a few days of letting the refugees mill around, the government organizes them to cultivate the wastelands for agriculture. It’s begun snowing now, the worst possible season for this situation, because luck really isn’t on their side. 

Since Porco isn’t able to move his legs, let alone put any weight on them, Marcel has to carry him around on his back. Sometimes, Reiner has to do it too, and, well,  _ that’s _ what peak humiliation feels like. Fuck his life.

Porco’s grouped with the injured, where they’re given tasks that are less physically demanding: sorting seeds, baking bread, the like. It’s here that he meets a retired soldier with a missing right foot. She’s from the Scout Regiment, he learns. She’s not a doctor, but she’s the closest thing to one because of her experience. 

“Do you remember what happened?” she asks Marcel as she examines Porco’s injuries. “I know it feels scary to revisit the memory, but I need to know exactly what happened.” Porco pointedly keeps his eyes away from the mess of ugly, half-formed scabs. They feel gross, and he thinks he’s going to throw up if he gets a good look at them.

Marcel’s voice shakes. “The titan… the titan grabbed Porco’s left leg and bit his right leg.”

The soldier frowns and thinks for a moment. Then, she says to Porco, “All we can do is keep the wounds clean.” She resets the bone, wraps it tightly with a clean strip of cloth. “We don’t have painkillers or any other medicine, but if your body fights off the infection, your left leg should heal fully. As for your right…” her mouth quirks into a small, sad smile. “...I can help with coping.”

* * *

Armin is sorted into a different settlement, but it’s close enough that he still sometimes comes to find Porco to talk to. They talk about everything and nothing at all. Or, at least, Porco says nothing at all. He tries not to share any information, because the Warriors haven’t really figured out a cover story yet, and though Armin most likely won’t be an important figure - it sounds harsh, but it’s not like Porco is important either - it can’t hurt to be cautious.

One day, Armin talks about the ocean.

“The majority of the world is supposed to be covered with salty water!” He gestures widely with his hands as he speaks, a hushed but excited whisper. “Water that’ll never run out, no matter how much you draw from it!” His eyes are bright. Hopeful.

The words hit Porco like a train cart, and he tastes something heavy like guilt on his tongue. For a moment, he contemplates just telling Armin the truth. “I think the blue of the ocean would be the colour of your eyes.”

“Re-Really?” Armin’s cheeks go rosy. “You think so?”

“Mhm. You hold the ocean in your eyes.”

Armin doesn’t say anything else for a moment as he looks away shyly, face reddening further. Then, out of the blue, he asks, “Do you want to meet my friends?”

“Nah,” Porco responds, keeping his tone light. “I’m not much fun to talk to.”

* * *

‘Subtle’ isn’t a word in Reiner’s dictionary. It’s pretty obvious that he wants to say something to Porco - the sneaked glances and awkward pauses when he opens his mouth makes it clear - but it takes him a whole two months to finally do it.

Usually, they’d be at each other’s throats, but Reiner has been strangely timid as of late. He’s acting almost like his older self, the person he was after returning to Marley for the first time. Though he’s as loyal to his idea of a good Honourary Marleyan as ever, his retorts to Porco’s taunts are less, ahem,  _ passionate _ than usual.

It’s uncomfortable. It pisses Porco off.

For the first time, he’s able to see past all the years of resentment and anger and  _ you’re the fucking reason Marcel died, _ able to see Reiner for the naive, hopeful boy he is and not the jaded, regret-stricken man he will become.

“Hey, can I, uh, talk to you for a sec?” Reiner asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Porco snorts, raises an unimpressed brow. “You’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?”

“Oh. I- yeah,” Reiner says lamely. He swallows hard, then blurts, “I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I was never supposed to get the Armour. You-”

“Yeah, obviously.” At the befuddled expression he receives, Porco explains, “What kind of idiot would believe that a loser like you surpassed me?”

Reiner’s looking more and more confused. Guilty, too. “But that means I really  _ am _ the weakest one, and I- I stole your titan, and now you’re like this because of-”

Ugh, is this seriously the loser he  _ died _ for?

“Braun.”

“Huh?”

“Pass me that crutch.” It’s something Bertholdt had fashioned for him. It’s made of a long branch and several pieces of cloth, and always gives him splinters despite the wrapping. Reiner dutifully follows the instructions, shuffling up and over to grab the branch. As soon as Porco’s fingers close around the makeshift crutch, he brings it down, hard, on the top of Reiner’s head. 

A loud _thwack_ echoes across the room.

“That hurt!” Reiner jolts back, brows furrowed as he rubs at his head. “What did you do that for?!”

“Listen up,” Porco drawls. “I’m only gonna say this once. You’re the Armour’s inheritor for a reason. If you don’t wanna be weak, get stronger.”

(It obviously takes a certain strength to survive in Paradis. Reiner’s attitude has always been annoying, but from a purely objective point of view, he’s reliable. And besides, maybe, just  _ maybe, _ Porco actually started feeling bad for the guy after the raid on Liberio, after seeing what he’d had to go through firsthand. He’s not ungrateful for all the times Reiner’s saved his ass in battle, too.)

“But-”

“I’m determined to not die a meaningless death, and if I can do that as a puny human, surely  _ you _ can go accomplish shit before the end of your term.”

Reiner falls silent. Porco sighs heavily, then continues, “As much as I hate to say it, you’re infinitely more valuable than I am. So quit moping, got it? It’s pissing me off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> porco, to armin: u hold the ocean in ur eyes  
> me: omg u smooth bastard
> 
> but real talk in case any manga readers r like “why is he being so nice to armin” im actually erring on pokkos anime characterization, which isnt like that much different from his manga personality hes just more fleshed out lol (ie: him being very affectionate w the warrior candidates)


	3. IMPORTANT MESSAGE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a lil extended author's note

dear readers:

firstly, thank you all so much for reading! <3 

before i continue on and dive deeeep into aot’s plot (and diverge heavily from canon lolz), i just wanted to ask you what sort of narrative structure/style would you prefer? like do you want it completely linear/chronological? or do you want it mostly chronological but sprinkled with flashbacks (like how canon aot is)

the reason i’m asking this is there’s a ton of training stuff in the 104 cadet corps i wanna include, but i don’t wanna bore you guys u_u but i also dont wanna have all the character dynamics seem jarring (like developing them chronologically would make the friendships feel a lot more organic and not like “oh wow how tf did so and so become friends even”)

like i mentioned, in canon this is mostly shown thru flashback (ymir + historia’s flashback, the bonus ovas, etc) and we get to jump into the titan action with trost relatively quickly. 

so tldr: would you guys prefer a purely chronological narrative (training before we get to see some actual pure titans) or jumping into action and then having flashbacks (canon style)

i would rly appreciate any feedback on this topic so that ill be able to write snth you guys enjoy reading :3 ill keep this message posted for maybe like a week or two so that as many ppl can see it as possible before i start writing! 

**Author's Note:**

> just made a [tumblr](https://porcosimp.tumblr.com/) haha so hmu if u want


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